a fever you can't sweat out
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Old habits die hard. So do old flames. As one comrade falls, another arrives to take his place… and reopens the wounds Lailah won't let time heal. Thrown back together after centuries of separation, she and Zaveid may collaborate for the good of the world, but whether they can truly reconcile is less than certain. Now a two-shot. Ch1 is T, Ch2 is M. I do not own Tales of Zestiria.
1. too much too soon, too little too late

_those thoughts of past lovers, they'll always haunt me  
i wish i could believe you'd never ruined me  
then will you remember me in the same way  
as i remember you  
( **house of memories** )_

* * *

Stone, starlight, and whispering winds: that's all that's left of Dezel now.

Lailah paces restlessly along the rampart, releasing a sigh to intermingle with the chilly autumn breeze. Sorey, Mikleo, and even Edna have long since returned to their room at the inn, but their Prime Lord's heart is heavier than it's ever been before. She's been alive long enough to know that parting is inevitable, but… it's never easy. Lailah never knows what to do with herself; it would be selfish to send off a fourteenth paper crane so soon after Dezel's death, so she ought to find something else to keep her occupied. It would be disrespectful to disturb his spirit any further tonight.

But the more she thinks of what she should think about, the more troubled her thoughts become, until she is finally overwhelmed by doubt and sorrow, eyes clouding over and threatening tears. Over the thousands of years Lailah has lived, how many of her few friends have left her behind long before their time—and how many of those deaths could she have prevented? She should have done something more; she should have been able to stop this, stop _him_. And now, it's too late.

Taking a deep breath, Lailah closes her eyes and tries desperately to calm herself once more, taking solemn solace in the cool wind washing over her. Dezel may be gone, she thinks, but his element will always remain. Besides, what did she tell Sorey earlier that very evening? _Moments of reflection are good for the spirit, but regrets solve nothing_. She could stand to take her own advice.

Slowly, tentatively, Lailah dares to relax again—but tenses immediately, startled, as someone addresses her: "Hey there, Lailah," begins a deep and altogether too carefree voice; she doesn't need to look at him to know it's Zaveid. She must have been too lost in her thoughts to hear him approach, because his metallic footsteps are too heavy for her to have missed them otherwise.

"You're… still here," remarks Lailah with an effort, and opens her eyes as she halts and turns to face him fully. The first thing her gaze lands on is Dezel's hat perched roguishly on his head, and her breath catches as she scowls. It doesn't suit him at all, she thinks, somewhat more savagely than usual… but Zaveid only smiles at her.

"I don't _always_ cut and run," he responds, and Lailah glowers outright at his flippant tone. He's said as many goodbyes as she has, or perhaps even more—certainly in more _ways_ , she thinks sourly. How can he be so irreverent? If anyone should inherit that hat, it should be Rose. "Anyway," he continues, ignoring her glare with a shrug of his bare shoulders and a shake of his covered head, "I'm here to talk to you about becoming a Sub Lord."

At his unexpected and uncharacteristic words, Lailah is momentarily shocked out of her disapproval, but her suspicion returns with a vengeance within a few short seconds. Zaveid is _never_ the first to suggest staying—as she found out when he told her himself, in misguided pride, so many hundreds of years ago. "I thought you didn't plan on becoming anybody's Sub Lord," retorts Lailah sharply, calling forth his words from what seems like so long ago.

Zaveid narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly as she repeats his own words back to him, paying much closer attention to her countenance than is comfortable. Lailah can barely hold his scarlet stare, but forces herself to look him full in the face and pray he doesn't ask why she remembers that encounter so clearly. He doesn't need to know the extent to which that day, the first time she'd seen him in centuries, is branded on her memory.

"If you're going to quote me like that, you should remember I also said plans change," returns Zaveid finally, crossing his arms, and glances away from her almost sheepishly—though he's probably not ashamed for the reasons he _should_ be, thinks Lailah. "Look, Sorey used my last couple bullets… as was his right," he explains, his voice edged with a sigh. "Thing is, I've still got some scores to settle, and I can't settle 'em on my own anymore." Zaveid turns his head to look her dead in the eye with unsettlingly sincere determination. "As much as I hate to admit it, I need you guys."

Lailah purses her lips and shakes her head; this doesn't feel right, especially not so soon after Dezel's death. How can she just replace one of her Sub Lords, an _individual_ , like some worn-out part of some purification machine? "And… if we refuse?" she asks him slowly, doing her best to filter the challenge out of her voice. Throughout their journey together, Zaveid has hindered them all far more than he's helped, to say nothing of the more distant past: even if he lent them the weapon that saved Rose, he's stood in their way often enough that as far as she's concerned, they're even.

"Why would you?" asks Zaveid, sounding genuinely taken aback, and raises his eyebrows. "You need a fourth seraph if you want to be able to stand against the Lord of Calamity, and you know it. Or…" He hesitates, pausing to evaluate her expression carefully, his eyes lingering curiously on hers. "Is this about _that_?"

"Of course not," Lailah tells him, a little too quickly; what happened between them in the past, or rather what _didn't_ , doesn't matter (or so she tells herself). "This has nothing to do with you and me," she continues, realizing her mistake in phrasing— _you and me_ —an instant after she says it, and rushes on to cover it up: "I-it's simply not my decision," she falters, directing her gaze intently at the ground.

"I knew it," sighs Zaveid, and his voice is a shade too close to reminiscent for Lailah's tastes. This is not the time nor the place to mention matters like this, especially since she's emotionally exhausted already. "You're still thinking about that night, huh?" It's not a question; Lailah looks up to glare at him as he grins at her. There's something distant about his smile, but it's still sharp enough to hurt: "I hate to break it to you, darlin', but if you're holding out for me to say I'm sorry, you're gonna be waiting a _long_ time."

"That's not it!" exclaims Lailah furiously, curling her fingers into fists—lashing out as she finally reaches the end of her rope. "It hasn't been more than a few hours since Dezel was killed, and now you're suggesting that you _replace_ him?" She realizes that her voice has risen, but her heart is beating too fast for her to stop now. Words spill out thick and fast like Dezel's blood, and the sentiment she's kept locked inside for centuries bursts out in a panicked rush: "Give me some time to grieve! I can't just move on like you do!"

The wind picks up at her words, though whether in corroboration or contradiction or just as a coincidence, Lailah can't tell; she doesn't even know if it comes from Dezel or Zaveid. Nevertheless, the distraction is enough to encourage her to quiet down, and she takes another deep and shuddering breath, closing her eyes in something like defeat. It takes a lot of effort to put up a calm and compassionate front like she does, and she simply doesn't have the energy anymore.

"There _is_ no time to grieve," responds Zaveid, much more softly than she expects; Lailah stares at him, a hot tear streaking down her face. She starts, raising a hand to her cheek; it comes away wet, and she turns away self-consciously, sniffling faintly. She will not cry—not in front of Zaveid. "And tears won't bring him back," he adds unhelpfully.

"They brought _you_ back," hisses Lailah, but her voice breaks at the end, and she lapses into grudging silence. Yes, it took several centuries, and Lailah hadn't ever been sure she really wanted Zaveid to come back, but her tears seem to have summoned him in the end anyway. Still, she can't hold her rage for long under the weight of such overwhelming sorrow, and even her anger was brought on by sadness to begin with.

Zaveid's eyes widen slightly, but he hides his surprise behind another sigh. "Make up your mind," he tells her, not unkindly, and crosses his arms, inclining his head—but does not move his eyes from her face. "Is this about us, or Dezel? You can't have it both ways." A bittersweet smile tugs at his mouth. "I don't think he'd _want_ it both ways, to be honest," he adds.

"Don't you dare talk about what Dezel would want," cries Lailah shrilly, making a valiant effort not to raise her voice again, but her grief gives way once more to fury, and she realizes she's trembling more from emotion than from the cold. How dare Zaveid even suggest that he knows the first thing about Dezel…!

"Not to pry, but did you fall in love with him or something?" asks Zaveid, shifting his weight to one hip, and Lailah's thoughts scatter; she flushes and opens her mouth to tell him _absolutely not_ , but he's not done yet: "Thought you'd learned your lesson after you had me," he continues casually. "Us wind seraphim aren't in the habit of sticking around."

At the implication that Zaveid's flightiness is somehow on the same level as Dezel's sacrifice, Lailah sees red, and her heart almost stops with all the force of her indignation. It takes a long time for her to find her voice, and it takes all her strength not to yell: "Please leave," Lailah growls, throwing all her focus into enunciation, and taking breaths between each sentence. "You've delivered your message. I'll take it into consideration. You can have no further purpose here, unless you mean to torture me."

"Whoa, that marks a change," remarks Zaveid, dropping his arms to his side and looking her up and down—impressed, for one reason or another—but he makes no move to obey, and Lailah's temper rises inside her like bile. "Last I remember, you were asking me to _stay_."

"And you didn't listen then, either," snaps Lailah, digging her fingernails into her heart to distract herself with the pinpricks of pain. "If you won't leave, then I will," she threatens, more desperately. Her mask of serene acceptance has already slipped more than once tonight, and she can't afford to throw it away altogether. If Zaveid stays here any longer, Lailah isn't sure _what_ she'll do, and the thought scares her.

She has to be allowed to collect her thoughts, she thinks, striding forward as blindly as Dezel was. She has to… "You know what's even less helpful than crying?" asks Zaveid conversationally, resting a hand on his hip as she makes to pass him by. "Running." At the single word, Lailah halts abruptly, breathing as hard as if she really has been running—though she knows she's only moved a few feet.

"If you got something to tell me, then tell me," continues Zaveid, as she turns slowly to face him. "If I'm gonna be joining you, which—let's face it—seems like the best option for everyone except the Lord of Calamity, then…" He gestures, and a chill breeze cuts between them pointedly. "It's better if we clear the air before the others get involved."

Taking a deep breath, Lailah brings both her hands up to her heart and bows her head, unable to help but see his point. Postponing dealing with all this turmoil would only hurt more in the end. "You're right," she mutters in an attempt to suppress her resentment, though her words are more of an exasperated exhalation. "I'm… sorry," she adds, as an afterthought, though they both know she doesn't really mean that.

"If you hate me, why don't you just say so?" laughs Zaveid, and Lailah marvels at his lighthearted tone and the smile on his face; neither of them seem especially forced, though upon closer inspection, they seem a little pained. "It's all right. You're probably more justified than most."

"I… I don't _hate_ you," Lailah corrects him, closing her eyes to avoid having to look at him as she says it—not because she's lying, but because she's ashamed that she's telling the truth. No matter how much she's wanted to despise him for what he did to her, hatred has never been one of the many emotions Zaveid has provoked over the centuries. "I just think your personality needs some work," she adds in a mumble, remembering all too well that Edna once said the same thing about her.

Zaveid gives a short, sharp laugh; Lailah looks at him again and narrows her eyes. "Right," he chuckles, shaking his head. "Listen, sweetheart, when you've been around as long as I have, you settle into a routine, and it's harder to break it the longer you keep it. You might be younger than me by a thousand years or so," he added, eyeing Lailah carefully, "but you should still know that by now."

"That's no excuse for leaving me all alone like that!" she shot back, clenching her trembling fists and taking a confrontational step forward. "I had no idea what I was getting into that night," adds Lailah, and despite her anger, the relief she feels at finally addressing her half-forgotten feelings is so strong she has to struggle not to smile triumphantly. She's kept so many secrets in her life, it's unbelievably liberating to release one of them.

"I was up front about where we stood from the start," retorted Zaveid, narrowing his eyes. "I told you, to that pretty face of yours, that I wasn't looking for anything serious. I warned you that I'd be gone when you woke up. If you thought you could make me stay anyway, that's on you. Unless…" He frowns slightly, readjusting Dezel's hat as it almost slides off his head. "That wasn't your first time, was it?" he asks, peering at her intently.

Lailah glances away from him, unable to bear looking at his face any longer. "As a matter of fact, it was," she responds stiffly, and Zaveid's eyes widen; this time, he doesn't try to conceal his astonishment—blinking at her as if at a loss for words. "I believe I tried to tell you that between kisses."

In the pause that follows, Zaveid lets out a long breath, and the wind stirs at Lailah's feet. "Damn, that's rough," he tells her, his voice cracking slightly, and he clears his throat a moment later. "I take back what I said earlier about how you'll be waiting awhile for me to apologize," continues Zaveid, shaking his head. "You've waited long enough, so… I'm sorry. _But_ if it's any consolation," he adds, switching gears with startling speed as he tosses her a mischievous grin, "you were good enough that it slipped my mind."

Lailah's eyes widen, and she blushes crimson at his easy flirtation. How can he say things like that without even turning even one shade redder? "Th-that's enough of that!" she manages, waving her hands in flustered agitation. "Flattery isn't going to help your cause, since it's not really my decision to make. And besides," she adds, narrowing her eyes, "I… I still don't trust you." And it still hurts to think too hard about that night, adds Lailah to herself. Add that to the list of things with which she'll have to come to terms before dawn.

" _Ouch_ ," returns Zaveid, raising his eyebrows, but he doesn't look the slightest bit hurt… or surprised. "But honestly," he continues, and saunters up to her; Lailah forces herself to stand her ground as he rests his forearm on her shoulder once more, leaning in close to murmur in her ear, his voice a low and suggestive growl. "Trust doesn't really factor into it, and it never really did—know what I mean?"

Lailah glares at him out the corner of her eye. "If you're suggesting that I make love to you over Dezel's grave," she responds furiously, feeling her eyes flash even as they fill with tears again, "then… I'm going to have to disappoint you. And you'd best get used to that," she adds, twirling out of Zaveid's way, but her pulse quickens anyway. He has no right to make moves like that at a time like this; it's almost enough to make Lailah hope Sorey finds some reason to refuse him tomorrow. _Almost_. Even now, she still can't bring herself to hate him.

"Man, they really got to you, didn't they?" sighs Zaveid, shaking his head. "When I first met you, all those centuries ago, you told me you'd do anything to shake the boredom that comes with waiting for a vessel. _Show me something new_ , you said." Lailah bites her lip at the memory of those words, so long left unrepeated; if he remembers that so clearly, and it was so much longer ago… (No. She refuses to lose herself in pointless speculation.)

"It wasn't your fault I left," continues Zaveid eventually, and another breeze brushes her face in a light caress; Lailah does her best to clear her expression, if only so he won't get the wrong idea, but can't prevent her eyes from widening or her heart from softening at the sincerity and regret in his tone. "It's just who I am, you know? I might not have explained that too well in the heat of the moment, but…" He trails off, but instead of finishing the fragment, he says only, "I guess you found a good one, huh?"

Lailah glances tentatively over her shoulder to find Zaveid adjusting Dezel's hat, and a pang shoots across her heart: not six hours before, its previous owner did the same thing. Overcome by thoughts of how recently everything had been all right, she jerks her head up to stare up at the sky instead. The stars have witnessed deaths beyond count over their millennia, more than any human or seraph could ever see; Lailah finds herself glad, in this moment, that she too is mortal.

She'd be content to ignore Zaveid altogether and watch the stars until the sun chases them away, except that something about his words bothers her long after they leave his mouth. As she reluctantly mulls them over, Lailah realizes what's wrong; he wasn't talking about her vessel, she thinks, but Dezel. If only for Rose's sake, she has to set that record straight: "I wasn't in love with him, Zaveid," she tells him quietly, but his unusually serious expression does not change as he shifts his gaze over to her. "I don't need to love someone like that to mourn for them. And I don't need to hate someone to mistrust them," she adds pointedly.

Zaveid sighs and closes his eyes briefly; when he opens them again, they shine with a gentle warmth. "You gotta be more careful, giving out words of wisdom like that all willy-nilly," he tells her. "I may not be much of a liar, but I've never been good with the truth, either. Hit me hard enough in the heart with that stuff, and I might just die." He gives her a small and somewhat weary smile, and Lailah hesitantly returns it.

In the ensuing silence, she can hear only her heartbeat… and the echo of her name on his lips, a halting breath reverberating through her sanctuary hundreds of years ago. They've reached a kind of closure in the present day as well, thinks Lailah, tentatively satisfied. He's as rambunctious and unscrupulous as ever, and she can't bring herself to place all her faith in him, but it's better than nothing. "You should get some rest," she says softly, longing to collect her thoughts alone. "It's been a long night for all of us."

"What about you?" responds Zaveid, crossing his arms again and staring her down; maybe it's just the darkness, but Lailah can't read his expression anymore. "I can't leave a damsel in distress out here in the cold, can I?"

Lailah takes one last deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. "I was fine before you came," she returns, a little more sharply as she looks up at him again, "and I'll be fine after you leave. Just… go. _Please_ ," she adds, gesturing away from herself earnestly. She may not be as angry with Zaveid as she should be anymore, under the circumstances, but she still needs time to collect her thoughts—perhaps now more than ever.

There is another brief pause before Zaveid sighs in resignation, taking a few steps forward to stand beside her. "As my Prime Lord commands," he tells Lailah quietly, glancing sideways down at her. She scowls, but her heart isn't in it this time; after all, no matter the hardships he's put them through, he _did_ apologize to her—even if only because he finally realized he took along something irreplaceable the morning he ran.

"We'll see what Sorey says about that tomorrow," replies Lailah, somewhat warily, but the last word is almost cut off by a gasp as Zaveid caresses her chin, removing Dezel's hat as if in respect; her feet automatically turn the rest of her body to face him. His eyes smolder scarlet in the starlight with a storm of nameless emotions, and Lailah shudders as if in cold, but it's not an unpleasant sensation; dimly, she recognizes the same arteless spell he put her under once before.

She closes her eyes and turns her face slightly away, her cheeks burning and her eyes stinging; she will not let his charisma sway her a second time—but they fly wide again as she feels warm breath on her lips, an instant before he kisses her. Lailah wants more than anything to find the strength of heart to shove him away, to tell him she doesn't want him anymore… but instead, her eyes flutter shut again, and she relaxes into his touch as if no time at all has passed since their first encounter.

It's a brief kiss, but full of so many emotions that it seems to stretch backward through all the hundreds of years since they did this last. It's slower and less sensual than Lailah would have expected; in fact, it's barely even romantic—rather, an experimental exchange of regret and longing and desperation and fear, conveyed in the only way Zaveid knows how. And, as strange as it may seem, she finds herself taking comfort in his real and true presence, just as she did that night so long ago… and perhaps, in his own way, he needs her too.

They breathe into one another as they break away, and Lailah opens her eyes reluctantly; immediately afterwards, the realization of what she's let him do—how much control he has over her—crashes down on her shoulders. The heat rises to her face once more, and she stares at the ground, begging Dezel's forgiveness in her head; she tried to resist as best she could, but her loneliness won out in the end. Even as the thought crosses her mind, the wind picks up as if in a gale of laughter, and she can't shake the feeling that Dezel understands what she means.

By the time Lailah looks up at Zaveid again, he's already donned the hat again and turned away, though he glances over his shoulder at her and catches her eye. Maybe Dezel's hat suits him more than she thought, thinks Lailah despite herself. "Good night, Lailah," he sighs, no trace of a smile on his face; in fact, he seems as sad as she's ever seen him. "I'll see you in the morning," he adds more quietly still, finally offering the words she wished he'd said so long ago, and continues on his way.

Lailah watches him go, helplessly touching her fingers to her lips. A part of her wants to chase after him and take back her request to be alone, to beg for his company and reclaim everything she thought she wanted so many decades ago—but she steels herself, and looks up at the night sky once more instead. Lailah only has a few more hours left until dawn, and she's still got a lot to think about… but something about the wind is comforting, and it's not just Dezel's doing anymore.

She is not alone anymore—so whatever tomorrow brings, she'll be ready.

* * *

 _I apologize for any confusion; this used to be a oneshot, so a few names and summaries got shifted around, including the title of this piece. Oops._


	2. under these stars

_show me your love, your love, give me more but it's not enough  
show me your love, your love, before the world catches up  
_' _cause there's always time for second guesses i don't wanna know  
if you're gonna be the death of me, that's how i wanna go  
(_ _ **collar full**_ _)_

* * *

Zaveid's already said a few too many farewells for his tastes… so when Lailah vanishes the night they leave Lastonbell for Elysia, it's all he can do to let her have her space.

It's probably nothing big, if he's being honest. Most likely, she's just gone off to be alone with her thoughts again, since Sorey's given them all something to think about. Still, Zaveid gets uneasy in her absence. Paranoid, even. She's the only one who's ever said outright that she doesn't hate him, after all—and he still can't figure out why. She's got much more of a right to hate him than, say, Edna.

But thinking about his potential unpopularity right now isn't going to make him feel any better, so Zaveid resigns himself to biding his time inside Sorey. This seventeen-year-old Shepherd is the only human vessel he's ever had… and the only one he ever _intends_ to have. Maybe it's just a wind seraph thing, but it feels too claustrophobic for his tastes. Better Siegfried, like the old days, and like the days to come.

…By now, it's been at least an hour, and he's waited for her long enough. Silently, so as not to disturb anyone, Zaveid emerges from the Shepherd and sets out through Volgran Forest in search of his Prime Lord. In his head, he knows better than to think she's run out on them, but he can still feel the familiar sliver of anxiety lodged in his heart. Everyone else leaves him in the end; call it an inevitability. That's how he learned to leave first.

Zaveid stops short as he finds Lailah staring up at the night sky, standing in a clearing mostly taken up by an enormous tree stump. She's lost in thought, from the looks of things… but not so lost that she doesn't notice him. As soon as he comes to a halt, she looks up and pins him to the nearest tree with those piercing sea-green eyes.

But there's more alarm and sadness than anger or fear. There's only one thing she could be thinking about, with an expression like that; Zaveid would be lying if he said the idea of Sorey's sacrifice didn't weigh pretty heavily on him, too. It may be for the best, but that doesn't make it right.

"So, what's the verdict?" he asks hoarsely, clearing his throat.

There's a brief pause before Lailah responds, softly enough that he has to pace forward to catch it. "There's no _verdict_ , as such," she tells him, and though she's plainly unhappy, her voice sounds certain enough. "This is Sorey's decision, so I'll let him do it." She lets out a long and lingering sigh, shaking her head, and her voice lowers still further. "I'll see him again. We all will."

Zaveid winces sympathetically at her obvious self-doubt. He can see she's trying to convince herself; he knows that tone all too well. "But you still can't sleep?" he asks tentatively. He's pretty sure if she could, she'd be back in her vessel and lecturing him on the certain evils of staying up too late… but one can never be too sure with creatures of the female persuasion. Better just to ask.

"No," admits Lailah, sounding as though she wants to ask him something. Zaveid can practically hear her question: _why are you here_? And, truth be told, he's not sure he has a ready answer. He's sure that if he told her he's worried about her, to the point of being scared to lose her, she wouldn't believe him. Not after everything he's put her through.

That said, there's something he'd still like to suggest, and it might even answer her unspoken question. Zaveid grins at Lailah, somewhat more hesitantly than usual: "You know there's a cure for that," he says, testing the waters with a little flirtation. Her reaction, he thinks, will decide whether he's allowed to press his luck further or not.

"Zaveid!" exclaims Lailah, turning red—but she does not make any effort to get him to leave, so he allows himself a more genuine smile. That's something of an improvement from the last time he stumbled into her solitude. "I-is now the time?"

If that's her most prominent complaint, or at least the first one that comes to mind, maybe this idea isn't so hopeless after all. "Hey, you're the Prime Lord," shrugs Zaveid, making an effort to sound as uninvested as usual. "You call the shots. I'm just here to do as you command and offer my _services_." He ventures a suggestive wink in Lailah's direction, and is rewarded with a furious blush.

She turns quickly away as if unable to look at him any longer, though Zaveid can see her glance at him out the corner of her eye. So far, so good. "And if I told you to leave…?" she asks, but he can tell she's not actually asking him to go. She just wants an assurance that he's not forcing himself on her.

 _That_ , at least, he can give. "Then I'd go," responds Zaveid simply. "No question." He stretches and swaggers forward, pausing briefly as Lailah takes an automatic step back, but she stands her ground as he dares to approach once more. "But see," he adds in a whisper as he arrives next to her, raising a conspiratorial hand to the side of his mouth, "I don't think you're gonna send me away."

"Wh-what makes you say that?" asks Lailah, her voice taut not in anxiety but rather in excitement; she's trying to mask it under suspicion, realizes Zaveid, but her usual serene veil is slipping.

He smiles in an odd mixture of triumph and relief. "Well, it's been a few centuries, hasn't it?" asks Zaveid, crossing his arms and staring her down. Not that he ever anticipated seeing her again after last time, but now that they were in the same place at the same time, he wasn't complaining; she was as lovely as ever, after all. "Figured you might appreciate the chance to… catch up a little." His smile widens. "I know I would."

He almost flinches as Lailah raises her voice; even though she's probably not speaking any more loudly than usual, it's a bit of a shift from the tone of the rest of their conversation. (Not to mention, his hearing has always been exceptional to begin with, thanks to his natural element.) "Excuse me, I don't much approve of your way of _catching up_!" exclaims Lailah.

Zaveid quirks an eyebrow at the unmistakable defensiveness in her tone. This is not born of anger, he thinks—or at least, not anger directed at him. "Really?" he asks, a smile playing about his lips as he regains his confidence. "Coulda fooled me, the way I had you mewling last time. Unless you've forgotten already," he adds even as Lailah shivers, "in which case, that's even more of a reason to give you a refresher."

"I…" begins Lailah, then swallows, moistening her lips as she attempts to regain her composure. " _I_ …" she tries again, more vehemently at first… but falters, her brow twitching into a frown. Zaveid studies her face carefully, his smile vanishing gradually as he recognizes her inner struggle—how unbearably deep this conflict goes.

"Are you… _afraid_ of me, Lailah?" asks Zaveid eventually, coming as close to the heart of the matter as he can. As persistent as he knows he can be, he really doesn't like pressuring people. If she's not interested…

Lailah jerks her head up to face him, evidently startled, and searches his eyes—all embarrassment apparently forgotten in her astonishment. "No," she tells him, and though she seems surprised, she's also sincere. "Why do you ask?" she adds more curiously, tilting her head.

Zaveid sighs. He guesses it's a little ironic that he should ask a question like that when he's about as nervous as she is, albeit for different reasons. "Look, Lailah, I don't really do guessing games," he tells her. "If you don't want me, just say the word, and I'll leave."

As he shifts in place as if to make good on his word, Lailah rests her hand suddenly on his forearm, and he resists the urge to yank his arm away. He can count the times she's initiated physical contact on one hand; what is she doing? "I—I never said that," she tells him, a peculiar undercurrent like desperation in her voice, and she does not meet his eyes.

"Oh?" asks Zaveid, as she withdraws her hand slowly.

Closing her eyes, Lailah takes a deep breath. "I-it's just that…" she begins, then lets out a long exhalation, shaking her head. "You have a habit of propositioning me at the _worst_ times," she adds almost accusatorily, looking up at him again, and Zaveid almost grimaces as he remembers her outburst of several weeks ago. _If you're suggesting that I make love to you over Dezel's grave…_

"Well, when _should_ I proposition you?" asks Zaveid, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows; Lailah purses her rose-petal lips, but does not answer immediately. "We might die any day now, and I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have any regrets when I go." Just like he said earlier tonight.

" _Zaveid_ ," responds Lailah reproachfully, stamping her foot, and her voice is edged with a frustrated sigh. "Don't say things like that. I know it's true," adds Lailah almost impatiently, as Zaveid opens his mouth. "But even if I did decide to take you up on your… offer, there's our group dynamic to consider," she continues. "I'd rather not make any drastic changes until after everything else is resolved."

Zaveid's eyes widen. She'd better not get it into her head that this suggestion is born of romantic feelings, or he'll turn into the bad guy again. "What's this about 'drastic'?" he returns. "I'm still not looking for anything serious, you know," he tells her, gazing into her eyes; it's important, now more than ever, that she understands. "I can fan the flames for a little while, but you'd burn yourself out trying to keep up with me."

"Or I'd consume you," responds Lailah swiftly, narrowing her eyes.

"I could live with that," shoots back Zaveid. "It's you I'm worried about." There, he said it: he worries about her. Far more than he should, since—what is he to her, in human terms? Less than an ex. The one that got away. Even an adversary. He doesn't know what started this, but damn it, he _cares_. Not to the point of love, since he doesn't think he can love anybody anymore; but he definitely cares on an emotional level.

"You're… _worried_ about me?" asks Lailah, blinking a few times rapidly. Maybe she thinks nobody worries about her, realizes Zaveid, just like he thinks everybody hates him. Maybe no one else thinks it needs to be said, so they just don't reassure them.

"Of course I am," he says, drawing himself out of his thoughts with an effort. "Always trying to hold everyone else together all the time, at any cost to yourself?" He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know how you do it; that'd drive me to malevolence. So yeah, I worry."

"Zaveid," says Lailah simply, smiling coyly—tracing circles in the grass with a dainty foot.

Oh no. "Hey now, don't get the wrong idea here," Zaveid tells her, holding up his hands. "I'm just saying I… _care_ about you, all right?" he continues cautiously. If she assumes this is the L word, he'll have to leave before the attached strings choke him. "Not just about the Shepherd and his mission, or my Prime Lord and the elemental powers. _You_."

Lailah finally looks up at him again, eyes shining and cheeks flushed. This is the same Lailah that looked at him like that hundreds of years ago, he thinks fleetingly. "Thank you, truly," she murmurs, and her eyes acquire a more determined sheen as she continues: "I—I care about you too, Zaveid."

He actually stares at her for a second as he takes in the meaning of her words. Not only does she not hate him, but she actually _cares_? It's enough that Zaveid almost wants to jump the gun and kiss her, but he clears his throat instead. "Good to know," he responds, his voice almost cracking out of sheer relief. "Sometimes I wonder."

"To answer your earlier question more completely—no, I'm not afraid of you," confesses Lailah quietly, directing her gaze intently at the ground. "But I'm afraid of _us_. I get… attached," she continues, more and more visibly reluctant. "You know that. And if this arrangement is only for a single night, like last time…" She trails off, worry glimmering in her eyes.

Zaveid presses his lips together briefly. What can he say to ease her mind…? "Things have changed since last time," he replies eventually. "We're traveling together, for one, which means I couldn't just up and off in the morning, even if I wanted to. The point is," he adds hastily as Lailah glares at him sharply, "I only said I didn't want a _relationship_. Meaning, I'm not cut out to be exclusive, no matter how many times I come back."

"O-oh," is Lailah's only, crestfallen response.

Zaveid sighs in the awkward pause that follows. "That… really didn't help my case, did it," he mumbles, adjusting Dezel's hat on his head for lack of anything else to do with himself. He should have chosen his words just a little more carefully, first of all; he'd meant it as a reassurance, but he made it sound like he was trapped. Damn it…

Lailah only takes another deep breath. "I'm just afraid that if I accept you, especially if you're going to repeat it, I'll end up trying to make you stay," she explains, and though her voice is flat, her eyes are almost desperate as they meet his. " _Again_. And if we share a vessel, as you observed, we won't have an escape if things don't work out, and…"

"Hey, hey," remarks Zaveid, cutting her off before she can catastrophize any further. "Relax," he adds, daring to reach out and rest his hand on her shoulder. "It's not that complicated." Lailah fixes him with a disbelieving stare, but does not shy away from his hand. " _Really_ , it's not," he continues. "Just try not to let the what-ifs ruin what you know you want, or you'll never let yourself find happiness."

Lailah scowls and inhales as if to protest, to say something about how she can't just stop thinking about the future—but Zaveid doesn't want to hear it, and presses a finger lightly to her lips before she can part them to speak. "You know I care about you, so I'm never gonna hurt you on purpose," he points out, as her eyes widen. "And you might not be able to make me stay, but that's no more your fault now than it was then. Meaning, it's _not_ ," he clarifies. "Now, ask yourself: is that really worth denying yourself this moment?"

Zaveid withdraws his finger to let her speak, though keeps his heavy hand on her shoulder. "I…" says Lailah uncertainly, the syllable trailing off into a sibilant sigh, and she stares fixedly at the ground. The silence stretches on for what might be minutes, and Zaveid's hand slips from her shoulder within the first few seconds.

After a long while, he comes to wonder with some apprehension whether Lailah is waiting for him to leave. Well, it was worth a shot, he thinks ruefully; if she's not in the mood, then she's not in the mood. At least he learned that she actively cares; that's much better than nothing…

"It's fine if you need some time to think," sighs Zaveid finally, running his fingers through his hair. Lailah glances up at him again in his peripheral vision, but he doesn't dare look at her to discern her expression. "I just thought I'd put it out there—!"

He registers Lailah's fingers curl around his wrist with surprising strength, and he expects to be pulled off balance, so he catches himself when he staggers… but her passionate kiss surprises him, at least in the few moments before his eyes close and his thoughts shut down. All that matters anymore is Lailah and her perfect lips, her perfect body, her perfect oathbound soul, _much_ too perfect for a sinner like Zaveid—

By the time they break away, Lailah's flung her arms about his neck, and his are around her waist… but more importantly, she's pressed up against him with eyes begging for more. "That's more like it," Zaveid tells her, catching his breath as he leans his forehead against hers. (Dezel's hat has fallen to the ground and blown some distance away, as though he wants nothing to do with this. Ah well; his loss.)

"Oh, Zaveid," sighs Lailah, her tone sultry, as she slides her hands down to rest on his chest—trembling in amorous anticipation. Oh yes; he's got her right where he wants her. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," growls Zaveid playfully, pinching her ass on an impulse; Lailah squeals, pressing still closer against him, and he grins. "Now let's get you out of that dress, hmm?" he adds, stepping back slightly to strategize. This is why he doesn't wear too much, he thinks, looking her up and down. The fewer clothes, the less he has to figure out how to remove.

"O-oh, but someone might hear us," she babbles, flushed and excited as she lets him guide her back against the tree trunk. Though her words sound like she's expressing some sort of worry, Zaveid doesn't hear any real concern behind them, and smirks. If the ordinarily practical Lailah has thrown caution to his winds, then…

"If they do, they'll know I'm doing it right," he whispers in her ear, busying his fingers with her attire at last.

"Oh, you think _I'm_ going to be the one they overhear?" teases Lailah, pushing him lightly away with a sparkle in her eyes. Ah, how he's missed that sparkle—but he can always contemplate that later; for now, he ignores her sportive shove and returns diligently to his work. "Don't you think you should worry about yourself, too?"

"Longer practice, m'dear," grunts Zaveid, still fumbling with the clasp on Lailah's bolero. "Unless you're not telling me something, I'm pretty sure I have the advantage tonight." He pauses to sigh in frustration and look back into her eyes. "Hey, Lailah, a little help here?" he asks pointedly. "Your outfit is a hell of a lot more complicated than that seraph-robe you were wearing last time."

Lailah giggles, raising a delicate hand to her mouth. "Or maybe _you're_ just losing your touch," she suggests, making not the slightest effort to help out.

Zaveid could point out that he's sure it's been much longer for her, given that his last dalliance was only a few short months ago… but instead, he narrows his eyes in exaggerated indignation. "Oh, that's a low blow," he mutters. "I'll show you exactly how out-of-touch I am. Mind if I do something unforgivable?" he adds casually.

"What kind of unforgivable?" asks Lailah apprehensively, her eyes widening more in curiosity than alarm.

"The kind of unforgivable you'll probably forget about over the next five or ten minutes," responds Zaveid, cracking his knuckles; Lailah nods hesitantly, though she still seems suspicious. "Hold still," he orders, taking hold of the front of Lailah's blouse with both hands and expertly tearing it apart.

Lailah gasps sharply in shock, though her inhalation is drowned out by the sound of ripping fabric. "Wh-what are you _doing_?!" she cries… but does not stop him, and the flush in her cheeks tells him she still likes displays of dominance.

"You're a _seraph_ , Lailah," says Zaveid, letting the fabric fall to the ground, and Lailah shrugs off the rest of her outfit, stooping quickly to remove her shoes. "You can get yourself back together inside the Shep…" He's brought up short as she straightens up again, and he finally gets the chance to appreciate her appearance: red and black, satin and lace. Damn, she's even hotter than he remembers.

"Were you expecting this to happen," manages Zaveid eventually, "or is this what you _always_ wear under all that?"

Lailah smiles slightly at his expression, twirling her hair around a willowy finger. "Both," she replies. "Just in case you ever happened to ask at the _right_ time. Consider it a… a thank-you, I suppose," she adds, fidgeting with her headpiece before removing it altogether and tossing it gently off to the side. "For reminding me not to overthink things. That's what I like about you in the first place."

As she speaks, Lailah reaches for the front of his pants almost shyly—but Zaveid catches her wrist. Time enough for that later. " _No_ no no no, you just relax," he tells her. "I can get myself off just fine, if need be. Think _you_ need some help, though," he laughs, and her eyes widen, but he doesn't give her the chance to respond. "Now—tell me where you want me," he continues, undoing his belt and kicking off his boots in a by now familiar set of motions. "I'm all yours, at least for the night."

"Um," manages Lailah, squirming slightly. "I… don't know? Whatever you think is best." As Zaveid rids himself of the last of his clothes, however, she averts her eyes with all the diffident discomfort of a virgin, staring determinedly into the dusky distance.

Zaveid smiles faintly. "Men, we're visual creatures," he explains. "But I notice you've never looked at me like that, not once. I'm not shy, you know," he adds, gesturing towards himself. "You don't have to be shy about it, either." A part of him _wants_ her to see him, to acknowledge him, but he's not about to insist. With any luck, she'll do that herself if he's good enough, and that's how he'll know. He'll have to earn it.

"I-it's not that," Lailah tells him, and he cocks his head. "I just… don't _need_ to see," she explains, all in a rush, and their eyes lock. "Feeling you inside me is enough." Even as she speaks, Lailah's eyes widen, and she raises her fingers to her mouth as Zaveid stares at her incredulously. _What_ did she just say…?

He can tell she has no intention of repeating it, but really, there's no need. She spoke from the part of the soul that awakens only when the rational mind is asleep, where every intention is true and every impulse is possible. There are no lies there, no concern for the future, no fear of loneliness, no vices or virtues—only a primal instinct, a pure quest for release. (If humans did one thing right, thinks Zaveid, just one… this was it.)

One shivering moment of sensual silence later, he finally succumbs to the wordless invitation in Lailah's deep expressive eyes, or maybe she leans up the last inch: it doesn't matter. Her bra is less complex than her bolero, he discovers—and once that's been thrown aside, he has the privilege of sliding his hands down the contours of her beautiful bare back.

Down, down, past her perfect waist and perfect hips and perfect ass: Zaveid curves his fingers around her perfect thighs, lifting her carefully. She settles back against the trunk, relaxing into his touch at last, panting as they pull away from one another again, parting like the priceless threads of Lailah's dress as he nestles his face in her neck. Caressing her, massaging her, he hooks his fingers in her remaining undergarment and tugs down—

As the last layer falls between them, wet already, it's all he can do even to untie his tongue long enough to form the right words. "Then feel me," growls Zaveid, mumbling into her skin, and finally finds sanctuary in her.

* * *

 _A bit of a parallel to "Windrider" in several respects. Oh, those gorgeous wind seraphim and their fiery one-night stands._


End file.
